


Talon

by Enchantedtalisman



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, M/M, Mercenary shepard, Omni-Bow Wielding Shepard, Sentinel Shepard, Threesome, self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 09:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantedtalisman/pseuds/Enchantedtalisman
Summary: A faint orange-blue glow is the only indication that anyone is there. The glow comes from an arched fabricated omni-bow, biotic blue and omni-orange making it shine in the hint of edges, and the arrow is a pure biotic blue, the hand or arm holding aloft is steady without a hint of tremor or unsteadiness.“This really better be important.” Shepard says into his comm.





	Talon

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, guess who's been grinding me3 multiplayer so me and a friend can hopefully do gold together?
> 
> Ha...ha. Anyway I finally got some favorite characters that I've been hoping for (the N7 Demolisher, and the Talon Mercenary) and I love the Talon's playstyle and sad that I can't mod the game (xbox) to use the omni-bow so...wrote a fic.
> 
> Really, like this whole, 7k and counting, fic is just centered around a Talon Shepard wielding an Omni-bow.
> 
> So, uh, hopefully you guys enjoy!

Faintly glowing in the darkness is an orange-blue light. The hues come from an arched fabricated omni-bow, biotic blue and omni-orange making it shine at the edges, and the arrow itself is a pure biotic blue, the hand or arm holding aloft the bow is steady without a hint of tremor or unsteadiness.

“This really better be important.” Shepard says into his comm. His eyes still focused on his query. All this effort and right as he’s about to shoot his target he gets a damn call. Normally he doesn’t _get_ calls during his jobs, because he has his omni-tool on emergency contacts only.

But, apparently this is an emergency.

“Shepard, busy I presume.” Aria, of course it’s Aria. Who else even has his emergency contacts? Okay maybe his well—they’re not boyfriends but they are definitely _something_. Other than that well not many at all actually. But then again it’s _Aria_.

“No I just normally tell people that it better be important.” Shepard says dryly and with a concentrated effort the world sharpens blue light engulfs him but dimmed and subdued. Everything moves just a little slower and he fires his omni bow. The warp arrow twisting through the targets head and causing their brain to partially demolecularize splattering tiny particles of grey across the floor before the body crumples.

With a quick flex of his hand his omni blade is stored away and he climbs down from his perch and flees the scene at a quick pace. No one would find the body of the redsand drug dealer for days but it was better to be cautious. And Shepard _hates_ redsand dealers who market to biotics.

“Done yet?” Aria asks with a tone edging on bored and annoyed.

“I am so sorry for keeping you waiting,” Shepard retorts.

A sigh is heard before Aria groans, “Some Alliance Admiral wants you to shadow a Spectre testing candidate.”  
“...A Spectre Candidate? From the Alliance? A human Spectre? Are you joking?” Shepard asks, settling himself on a building far enough away from his kill that he shouldn’t be caught here. And he can check to make sure he hasn’t been followed and the network on this colony hasn’t been notified of any suspicious activity.

Aria snorts, “Because your little Alliance has been whining about being on the council for _years_. Even Asari are tired of it.”

“Not my Alliance,” Shepard says, and then checks over his omni tool. The bow comes out smoothly and the biotic strengthening hasn’t harmed the material which is good. The manufacturing setting is also strong and good to go. He has enough omni-gel to make arrows for an actual war. Nothing except being _extremely_ prepared, or at least that’s how he was taught and how he’s always been.

“Whatever, point is the candidate, or candidates since they couldn’t choose.” Aria sounds disgusted.

“That bad?” Shepard asks, amused. He’s heard a few things about the Alliance but he keeps most of the info to the tactical sense. Anything to do with incompetence is only used in getting away with his missions or finding cracks in the Citadel Space’s security planet or ‘net wise.

“Awful. Some of the people on the ship have potential, but they’re not high enough rank. Shame the Alliance hates the Turians so much. They might learn something about ranking and promotions.” Aria continues before Shepard can say anything, “They want you to shadow the test, make sure they don’t die, I suppose. I don’t know, don’t care. Just sending you the notification because Captain Anderson couldn’t find you.”

“Anderson?” That name is familiar, Shepard doesn’t know why but it is familiar.

“Hmm. I’ll let you figure it out.” Aria’s sly voice is grating but at least she’s not playing mind games. That’s always annoying, and dangerous.

“Thanks, I guess.” Shepard can’t say yet. Alliance pay varies and asking for the _Leader_ of Talon is not a cheap venture.

“Yeah yeah, now get back to Omega so I can be left the fuck alone.” Aria signs off without a goodbye.

Typical.

 

Getting off the colony isn’t hard with a half decent shuttle that can survive a Mass Effect Jump, but Shepard stays a little longer just to double check everything. He knows better than to be over confident. Still it’s a brief skim over cameras, letting his omnitool do most of the work, and checking over his message backlog in the meantime.

There are several missed calls by an Alliance number, and then an unknown number that makes Shepard give a few moments to track it back to the same omnitool that used the Alliance number—sloppy of them, so probably this _Anderson_ fellow. Or someone who works with him? He doesn’t bother hacking into the Omnitool over the net, with light lag the chances of getting caught are pretty damn high especially on a colony so far away from earth.

After that Shepard leaves with little fanfare, ready to go home and wash the sweat and dirt off him—and possibly whatever form of flying-rat creatures that crawl up walls of alley’s and live on rooftops. He’s pretty sure his armor has a bit of flying-rat poop on it.

Talon’s ships are heavily modified, and not the least bit legally, and so his FTL drive is possibly better than the state of the art. Getting to the nearest Mass Relay barely takes a few days, and the jump to Omega is a smooth easy shot after that.

 

Omega is the place Shepard refined his Talons; pun intended. There’s nothing quite like going from Citadel Space and dealing with C-sec and Spectres to dealing with _Aria_.

Possibly the only Asari Shepard has ever been cautious of that wasn’t his dad. But they have a mutual...respect for eachother. Talon doesn’t interfere with Omega except in certain situations, and the Queen of Omega, leaves Talon alone.

It’s better this way.

Even if Shepard has more than one or two operations to clean out the redsand of Omega.

Finding Aria’s little schemes and moles in Talon? Just business at this point.

“Found another one.” Shepard’s first lieutenant says when he docks. Another of Aria’s little moles probably.

The Turian’s no slouch and has more than his fair share of experience in and out of Turian space.

“Glaucia, pleasure to see you. Dealt with, I assume?” Shepard says in greeting. His lips twitch when Glaucia’ own mandibles clack together. Clearly the Turian has had a long day without the two leaders of Talon around. “Where’s She-wolf?” He asks when Glaucia doesn’t answer.

Turian’s don’t sigh like humans, it’s more of a low warble or whistle depending on the Turian in question, and Glaucia’ is long low and slow. “Yes. Handled. And, Fuck, if I know, seriously are you two just going to run around and make me manage everything?”

“Can you kill someone with non traceable ammunition?” Shepard asks, continuing his fast pace through Omega’s streets. The stench is off-putting and since he only controls the Talon’s side he has no authority here. Not that that’s stopped him before, but it’s easier on everyone if Shepard and Aria keep their squabbles to a minimum.

“...No.” Glaucia admits with a tight flexing motion of his mandibles.

“Hmm, and do we have any stealthers,” The Talon term for the top infiltrators and mercenaries who knew how to leave a body MIA for years if not decades, “available right now?”

They pass by several merchants that yell about prices, omni-tools that look half dead or broken, and ones who are calling out for slavers. Shepard takes note of the closest Batarians (and of course it’s _Batarian slavers_ ) and makes sure to tell Aria off for allowing them anywhere near Talon’s space. He doesn’t need that shit tainting his business. If she doesn’t handle it, he will.

“Taki just got back.” Glaucia tries, but his voice is weak, and it’s clear that he knows he’s crossed the line when he winces. Omega Turians tend to be the ones who have a backbone, or a chip on their shoulders, just like Glaucia; and even if Glaucia is one of the few with a chip on his shoulder to get to a high military rank, well, he didn’t stick around much like the others with a backbone.

About three yards away from the base, Shepard glances at Glaucia and asks, “Were they here when I left?” Shepard knows that’s not true, just enjoys Glaucia’ wince again. Yeah, a little dickish, but dammit he enjoys his jobs but it’s not like he doesn’t think these things through. He’s not about to ruin Talon for a little less work. “The money is good, you got the payment?”

“Yeah in full, and your right. I..” Glaucia shifts on his feet and allows Shepard to open Talon’s base door. “Sorry.”

“Huh, well, you might need another second in command if it’s this much trouble.” Shepard admits. He knows how hard it is to keep track of everything even with She-Wolf, whenever she’s actually around. But he hadn’t expected another job so quickly, normally he goes out to train and practice, maybe the odd job every three months at most.

“Wait, what? I didn’t do that badly! It was one little complaint!” Glaucia sputters, his talons practically deafening against the hard floor underneath them as he hurries his pace.

“I didn’t say you did a bad job, but apparently I have another offer.” Shepard

“Ah...” Glaucia looks guilty.

So, Shepard sets his rations bag, and several odds and ends that are mostly communal use (kinetic shielding, masks incase of suit ruptures in space, cloaks and other necessities for a spy) on an equipment bench further inside of the Base before nodding his head towards his office. A few onlookers wave and Taki, a black woman who definitely has some Quarian in her if her glowing green eyes are indication, nods. No injuries that Shepard can see so his shoulder’s relax slightly.

The worst part about being a Boss when away is not being able to check on them. Having them out of his range is always stressful, and more than once Shepard’s father has given him grief for being an old Matriarch when he’s supposed to be a Maiden.

When the door of Shepard’s office is closed, and he sits with a cool glass of cold blue liquor, an Asari brand that he’s pretty sure is called Maiden Blue or something ridiculous. “So you knew about the offer.” He says when Glaucia starts shuffling on his talon’d feet.

“I-er,” Glaucia sigh is a long low whistle, “Look I thought it was a trap okay? Some Commander offering you a big job to watch soldiers? On an advanced Turian-Human hybrid ship?”

“That does sound suspicious.” Aria hadn’t mentioned the ship type or that he would be _on_ the ship. Seems a little risky but Shepard’s still hedging on it. Anderson’s a name he feels like he should remember. One of the thousand or so history lessons Da’ filled his brain with; including a shit ton of medical info on organics, hacking, and biotics that would make most Commando’s purple with jealousy.

“See, why I didn’t think it was worth the risk of distracting you on-your-mis-” Glaucia trails off and his eyes narrow, jaw clenching closed, “Aria told you about it.”

“Important enough for them to risk it. So I’m leaning towards believing them. No one lies to Aria without some difficulty.” Shepard says and chugs the rest of the drink in one go, enjoying the hot burn that wakes his muscles and fills his stomach with a cool aftershock. Asari and Krogan really do know how to make their drinks taste and feel good.

“Yeah, the last one that did died.” Glaucia shivers.

“Vorcha don’t lie very well, though.” Shepard says, remembering the lackluster leader of the Eclipse. Nice name, pure brute force tactics and nothing to write home about for the last decade.

“I guess, still don’t exactly want to experience what he did.” Glaucia shifts on his feet and when Shepard doesn’t try to put an arrow into him settles himself in the seat in front of Shepard’s desk. “I figured it would be better to talk to you about it when you were here. Decide if you want to go out there. With a small team?” He ends with a hopeful note

Shepard looks up from his empty glass and raises a brow, “Already tired of being a Lieutenant, huh?”

If Turian’s could blush that’s what Glaucia would be doing right about now. He looks anywhere but at Shepard, and rolls his shoulders and taps at his knees, “Taki would be a good second you know?” His casual tone flounders almost immediately.

“Uhuh, she would love to have her job that she passed up for difficult training and higher pay to be given back.” Shepard tilts his head and sighs, “I need you here, G, you know that. I’ll see if I can ask Toll if they want to help. Asari love politics.” Normally statements like that would get tagged as racist in Talon’s base, but damn if Shepard hadn’t met less than ten Asari who _didn’t_ play mind games.

“Toll? The maniac with a shotgun and an infiltrator cloak?” Glaucia whines, actually whines.

Shepard hasn’t ever heard a Turian whine before. “They are also the best at schedules and leadership, they had a high ranking within the Asari Huntresses before they left the organization entirely, and has about three hundred years over us all.” He says with a raised brow.

Glaucia sighs and nods, “Fine. You’re right...just...a shotgun.”

“Huntress, why wouldn’t they be familiar with close and personal?” Shepard asks, and opens his omni tool. Better to send the message now before he has the chance to forget. Worse than missing his people is having them either understaffed or under-equipped. Either is a disaster. The last time he almost had a _Warp_ through his head thanks to Aria’s anger at his Talon’s destroying half drug market on redsand and a few narcotics that were known deadly to certain races.

Was giving them a hypothetical bonus to not get caught and clean footage of their next efforts responsible? Not exactly. Was it effective at making sure Omega’s less than healthy businesses got the message that Talon didn’t approve of them encroaching on their home turf? Yes.

“Sent.” Shepard sighs and rolls his shoulders. He glances at Glaucia who’s still looking slightly disappointed, “I told her to stop being so menacing, relax. She might even train you up.”

Glaucia’s mandibles part and he shakes his head in a very human gesture, “No, no, thanks Commander, but no!”

“Not a Commander,” Shepard says dryly but he gives up on trying to correct Turians on leader ranks a while back, the names stuck, just like the Nicknames, “It will get you on rotation again, so figure out what you want, training with me, She-Wolf or Toll.”

Glaucia huffs and leans back, “Alright. Just because I’m tired of playing desk jockey.”

“Your human is getting better.” Shepard says knowingly and ignores Glaucia’s clattering talons on the floor. It’s not like the server porn is very well hidden, at least not to someone of Shepard’s caliber (and the fact that he has eyes on almost everything except personal files, and even those have a routine bot scan for mutiny, he doesn’t _care_ if people leave, but starting shit is a _no_ ). “Now get out so I can sleep and wash. No matter how much you might want to see the show, I’m not interested.” He adds the last bit just to hear Glaucia curse when he exits the office.

Now, Shepard turns to the hidden door leading to his room. Time for a wash and to figure out what he’s going to say and where he’s going to meet the damn Alliance.

“Tch, Alliance.”

 

The shower soothes Shepard, and unwinds the last of the tension in his muscles. Carrying the materials for his omni-bow’s arrows, and carrying around a typical _Sentinel_ suit isn’t easy on him, especially when he can’t keep _Biotic Focus_ or the Asari version; _Inner Peace_ , (Asari and their weird poetic biotics) is a little difficult and it’s clear he’s going to have to workout a little more. Add some time out of both biotic abilities and carry his shit around the old fashion way.

But for now he cleans off the rest of the soap and admires the shine of Asari-scales across his body thanks to the genetic adoption of his Da’ and the few scars he’s proud of living through before washing his teeth, splashing water against his face to get the smears of foam off (and rubbing the Asari-freckles across his cheeks, under his eyelids, and the edges of his forehead), before falling blissfully into bed.

Cat naps are usually his thing, so he sleeps relatively peacefully for about fifteen minutes before getting up and meticulously cleaning his armor. Checking for any wear and tear from his trapeze across the rooftops and checking the omni-gel he has. Good and still pure enough to be used. Perfect.

One more nap, this one longer by two hours and fifteen minutes, before Shepard gets up again.

 

“Commander!” Toll calls, they wave cheerfully and from the look of poor Glaucia beside her, has gotten his message, “I’ll take good care of Talon while you’re away.”

Which catches everyone’s, in their rather cozy dining hall, attention.

Shepard rubs a hand over his face, “Really, Toll?” He looks at her unrepentant grin and shakes his head, “Yeah, I have a mission, maybe. We’ll see how it goes.”

“You just got back, Commander.” A Krogan by the name of Kox (three guesses why, and the first two don’t count) grumbles. As many Krogan as Shepard has met, there are very few that he’s met that _aren’t_ softies when you get them away from other Krogan to show off too. Considering the only other Krogan is his mate, well, softness is no issue in here.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Shepard says, his voice gentling when he sees a few of his other recruits faces. So, maybe he’s more than just the Commander to them but. Damn if they don’t mean something to him too. He’s just debating laying off the job when Taki says, “You should take a team with you.”

Shepard freezes with wide eyes. Take a team? With him? Which, yes of course he’s taken teams before, but to an Alliance ship? Hell, when everyone in Talon knows full well to annoy the shit out of the Alliance when they can, without dying, and to only help in life or death situations? That Shepard has never once accepted an Alliance job that hadn’t cost them an arm and a leg?

“Sounds like a good idea, Commander.” Glaucia, the little shit, says, he’s got a smirk on too. He knows exactly what will happen with a team on. He should considering he’s second command in Talon.

“I agree.” Toll adds, because they are a complete disaster. Suddenly, Shepard regrets giving them power, but he doubts it’s what got to their head.

When more and more, even Fox, the quietest and best of his Quarian infiltrators, pipes up, Shepard gives in.

“Alright, alright.” Shepard raises his hands. “Two people.”

“Three, you need a bodyguard.” Toll says, and everyone quiets, apparently they are going to negotiate for his men. How did that even happen? Did they plan this?

“One.” Shepard scowls at them. He doesn’t need a bodyguard. If anyone can shoot him faster than he can get a barrier up or omni-bow them down, then he’s getting old.

Toll’s eyes narrow, “Five.” Absolutely ridiculous, no one needs a five man team, especially _Talon_ who use at most four people. To keep even numbers.

Shepard can already see how this plays out, they wear eachother down, and if he does win and only gets one or zero people then his crew will be angry. Damn Asari mind games. If he does take a team at least it will settle their nerves and Shepard won’t be on edge for the entire mission, and who knows how _long_ that will be.

“Three, Fox will be on it.” Shepard says immediately, because he needs _someone_ who will listen to orders and not backtalk.

Fox nods, his modified Quarian suit, which green indicating it’s a _he/_ _him_ day, is leagues better than what most Quarians have coming off the Flotilla’s even if Talon has been giving Fox’s people funds here and there.

“Fine,” Toll says, their eyes skim over the group before nodding at two, one Asari, and one Turian, “Ame, and Vita will go with you.”

Ame is a fine Asari, good at tracking, and an impressive biotic, if not good at stealth. He is a heavy hitter for sure, which most Asari aren’t necessarily made for. Vanguard to the bone, that one.

Vita is a mix, a Sentinel that has a handle on tech knowledge that she could make use of in a handful of situations and uses her biotics to manipulate electronics beautifully. She was a hard one to find considering biotic Turians are a rare breed and very well guarded.

“Alright, get a general pack ready, and when I come back I’ll tell you if we _are_ actually going.” Shepard stops himself from rolling his eyes at the smug looks on some, like Kox, faces. They may have set him up but he can’t deny some pride in them. Looking out for eachother is a baseline rule in Talon. No matter how hard ass Shepard has to be it’s the rule that is beyond any other in Talon.

“Now shoo, go drive someone else mad.” Shepard tells them.

“Bye Dad!” Toll calls, the asshole.

If Shepard leaves the base with a small soft smile, well, no one sees it.

 

Anderson’s hot, that might be a weird thing to notice first, but Shepard’s always appreciated older men. It’s a shame he’s already invested in two other men, or he would try his hand at a one night stand. Also, there’s nothing quite like holding it over an Alliance soldier that they fucked a Mercenary.

“You must be the Commander.” Anderson says, his eyes had tracked Shepard across the bar the instant he walked in.

Shepard tilts his head, “That is one of my titles, I guess.” Damn Titles crop up like weeds.

“Or would you prefer the Silent Biotic?” Anderson twitching lips seem like he’s picked up on Shepard’s irritation, “the Omni-bow Assassin? The Warp Arrow?”

Shepard actually likes the last one, after all the Warp Arrow was his invention. It’s not the first time biotics and tech have worked together, but omni bows are streamlined to be quick and silent, biotic offensives tend to be explosive or corrosive, not good combinations. Stabilizing the warp so it didn’t tear up the omni-bow had been one of the hardest biotic exercises he’s ever dealt with. If anything it’s made him a better biotic. “Get to the point.”

“Right.” Anderson _hmms_ , and sips at his...whiskey. Well, looks like this _is_ a serious conversation. Or the man’s a drunk.

Shepard grimaces at the idea of a drunk being his contractor. Those are ones he tends to say no to.

“Well, sit down, what exactly are your going rates? Ambassador Udina appears to think that you charge far too much.” Waving at the seat across from him, Anderon grimaces when he says _Udina._

“Udina.” Shepard really can’t say he likes that man. He sits and waves away the waiter before they can even try to talk to them. No drinks while he’s making business. Too many attempts at poison, too bad few people know that poisons don’t work on biotic refined Asari control; which was _another_ thing on the list that his Da’ thought was necessary for him to learn. (Not that Shepard wasn’t grateful the first time he tasted cyanide in his rum)

“Yes. Prices?” Anderson asks again.

Shepard shrugs, “Tell me what you want first.” If Udina’s somehow connected to this, damn if he isn’t going to check all the boxes; that man is possibly the worst politician and liar that Shepard has ever met. He isn’t surprised if they have _Udina_ as an Ambassador that Humans haven’t gotten a seat on the Council.

A hard stare is what Shepard gets, Anderson’s got one mean look when he wants to make that handsome face hard. Still, not something Shepard is going to keel over for.

Raising his brows in reply, Shepard relaxes against the back of his seat.

“Fuck you really are him.” Anderson mutters low but just loud enough for Shepard to hear.

“You thought I’d send you an impostor?” Shepard asks dryly. He always meets his contracts in person if they ask. Never has he sent one of his members in his stead. That’s just asking for them to die if it’s a trap.

“Could have been a trap. Do you know how much Admiral Hackett hates that we have to ask you--”

“Again,” Shepard interrupts.

Scowling, Anderson continues, “ _Again_ for help?”

“Sure, would drive me crazy.” Shepard shrugs, “But that’s not important, if it’s a trap I’ll get out of it. Now tell me what you want or if this is a trap because I really don’t want to kill a pretty face like yours if I don’t have too.” Shepard’s surprised that _that_ actually makes Anderson stammer and covers his lips as if he’s embarrassed. Or flattered? Hard to tell with Military men—the homophobia might be long gone but the emotional depth is sometimes hard to come by.

“N-Not a trap,” Clearing his throat, Anderson rubs at his chin and his eyes meet Shepard’s briefly before looking away again, “I—son you’re like half my age.” He huffs and then shakes his head, “I mean, what we need your help with is simple. Protection. You are one of the best Mercenaries out there.”

“Guessing Aria said no, then.” Shepard offers, because he might be damn good, but Aria still has at least three hundred years over him. No matter if he might have some Asari in him, he’s still (embarrassingly enough thanks to the genetic manipulation) only in his Maiden stage.

“She wasn’t interested, no.” Anderson sighs, “We just need someone who can keep an eye on our choices. Spectre Candidates are difficult to gain and train up.”

A flimsy excuse if Shepard has ever heard one, which he has, and if they truly were _Spectre_ ready they definitely wouldn’t need bodyguards. So the Alliance is floundering, trying to make sure to get a Spectre for humans; and who _wouldn’t_ want that? Spectre status is high indeed, and practically an illegal cop in some situations. Shepard would know he’s dealt with more than his fair share of them.

But, Goddess, if Shepard doesn’t want to have this to rub in the Alliances faces, so he thinks of how much a normal Commander would get paid on a ship. He’s guessing mostly because he hasn’t been part of the military in literal years. One of the very few human Commando’s actually, “Thirty thousand credits a day.”

“T-thirty thousand? A day? Are you mad?” Anderson sputters.

Shepard admittedly doesn’t need thirty thousand a day, but, “Eighty then, Admiral’s get about that much a day don’t they?”

“You aren’t an Admiral.” Anderson’s voice goes flat and there’s that sexy hard stare again.

Saying, _Fine then how about a blowjob while you look at me with murder in your eyes_ , is very tempting, but for the shoving Alliances noses in it rights, he keeps his mouth shut and rolls his head. His neck feels a lot better after that, and he stares at the ceiling. He supposes he could settle for ten thousand a day. It’s low for him, but the bragging rights alone is pretty damn worth it.

Sounding pained, Anderson exhales, “Thirty five thousand, that’s all we can give you.”

Thirty Five thousand, huh, he had to wonder if Commanders got Forty if he was getting Thirty five. Shepard nods, “Alright, tell me the parameters.”

Anderson frowns and leans back, crossing his arms and not looking even once at his half done whiskey. Maybe he wasn’t an alcoholic after all. “You’ll have accommodations on the ship,” He says and then lowly _with thirty five grand too god dammit,_ “and watch over the Spectre Candidates, make sure they survive the Spectre test, and aren’t interfered with.”

“You’re worried about interference?” Shepard can believe that he supposes. Humans had taken the Galaxy by storm, and the political leaders were always trying to push their own agendas. Not helped by how the old races were a little too set in their ways. Even the Salarians for all their evolving thought process were stagnant in certain things.

“Yes.” Anderson gains a grim face, “Not many in the Spectres themselves and out of them think we are ready for such responsibility.”

“Probably not.” Shepard ignores the look he receives, no one should have Spectre status in his opinion. Too much deceit that the Council can hide behind not knowing or blacked out files. Not that there aren’t _ways_ to figure things out.

With an aggrieved sigh, Anderson continues, “The point is, will you provide your services?”

“Yes, include space for three operatives including me.” Shepard says, and then pulls out a written contract and with a quick few flicks on his Omni-tool sends another digital copy to Anderson’s Omni-tool.

“This...what is this?” Anderson is already skimming the pages. His eyes widening at certain parts and then a frown pulling on his lips, “This—you’re a Mercenary, who would even allow this to be legally binding?”

“Illium, obviously.” Shepard hasn’t exactly been friends with Illium considering the indentured servants, but he’s been chipping away at that, and adding his own power-base on the colony itself, and hell they have one of the best lawyers for illegal activities.

“...Redsand and it’s Asari derivative Ardaksand is an immediate termination of contract?” Anderson sounds curious and not disapproving like most of the...gray contractors that Shepard tends to deal with.

“Complete blacklisting, actually, if you keep reading.” Shepard says with a baring of teeth that’s too wide and sharp for a smile.

“Right..didn’t even _know_ there was an Asari version.” Anderson shakes his head and flips the page.

“They don’t like talking about it, consider what people would think if there was a drug that made humans into psychic killers.” Shepard says and gets a nod of understanding.

Time passes relatively slowly and Shepard is impressed at Anderson’s dedication, the man doesn’t skim any bit of the contract, it’s only two pages but it’s enough to get the gist of it. Lie, steal, use drugs, slaves or backstab Talon and there will be consequences. Some worse than others.

Finally, the man signs with a quick flick of his wrist and then digitally scans his signature on the copy on their omni-tools.

“Thank you.” Shepard says, he gives Anderson his paper copy and keeps one for himself. “We will meet you in Earth’s orbit?”

“Yes...wear something non-revealing of your ties. Spectre’s will be on board.” Anderson says, gulping down the rest of his whiskey as if to fortify himself.

“No promises. I don’t care for the Council either.” Shepard offers before standing up and walking away. He wonders if it would be _too_ much of a nose rub to intentionally wear the full Talon armor, and paint.

 

“Commander?” Ame asks, when he comes back. He has his full gear already ready, a shotgun modified from the current Firestorm line that might as well be strong enough without mods. But Talon isn’t the best Assassination and Mercenary gang on Omega for no reason. The rest are a Pistol from the Razor series, also modded, and several grenades (several of various types) and several packs of medi-gel.

“Already, huh? What ‘bout Fox and Vita?” Shepard checks the armor he’s wearing (because going to a meet up without it is just asking for trouble), and then the gear bag that he took out of his room before coming to the equipment benches. He debates long and hard before switching out his armor for a more streamlined version that doesn’t show off his ties to Talon. But, packs up his Talon armor just incase, just because he doesn’t want to stir the hornet’s nest yet doesn’t mean he won’t later.

“Ready.” Ame says and then flicks his fingers to send a light pinch at Shepard’s side.

Hissing, Shepard glares, he really should have known better than accepting Commando’s from his father. Ame is too informal with him.

“Gotta talk sometime, sweet cheeks, what are we doing?” Ame asks with a small pleased smile.

“I talk plenty.” Shepard huffs to hide his smile. Then he nods towards where the docking area is, “We’re headed out and to Earth so we can see some Spectre potential.”

“Spectre potential? On Earth?” Ame asks, raising one of her bare-brows, it’s still sometimes weird to see hair on a human brows, Shepard likes his own but he can’t deny he likes that his shine underneath with scales like Asari.

“Apparently.” A crashing sound behind them makes Shepard wince internally and he doesn’t have to turn around to know the clacking of talons. “Vita, good of you to join us.”

“Warp Arrow.” Vita says with a cheer that she really shouldn’t have for dropping weaponry all over the floor. Or grenades, Goddess Shepard hopes it’s not grenades again.

“It’s not grenades, Shep.” Ame says with a barely hidden laugh.

“Good, pick it up Vita.” Shepard finishes checking his pack one final time, and a quick scan (visual and digital) of his omni-gel and arrow components to make sure it’s still going to last for, if he’s lucky, a month contract.

“Did you say something about Spectres, Biotic Talon?” Vita’s habit of switching nicknames every few minutes is almost endearing if it didn’t make Shepard’s head spin.

“Just Commander or Shepard, we’ve talked about this Vita.” Shepard sighs, and then nods when he gets absolute silence on Vita’s end of the equipment room.

“The few Spectre potentials are all in the N7 program, as vicious as it is,” Ame wrinkles his nose, “And our illustrious leader.”

“Genetically modified-part Asari aren’t exactly people they want as the first human Spectre.” Shepard retorts, and to hide his sudden heated skin, turns and raises his arm in a smooth motion. The Omni-bow with it’s biotic encasing comes out with an easy slick sound—barely audible.

“I dunno, Silent Biotic.” Vita hums, combing through her grenades, a silent pistol that has to be from Brawler line, and an assault rifle from the Kovalyov line. “I think you could do it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Shepard tries for a sarcastic tone but misses the mark if Ame’s amused glance is anything to go by.

Just to get out of the damn Equipment room a little faster, Shepard looks to the corner of the room and says, “Fox?”

“Ready,” The Quarian unstealths and lifts their shoulders. Still green, so still a nonbinary day.

“Be ready to head out tomorrow morning sharp. Tell Kox to get a shuttle ready since I don’t want us to leave our ship on Earth.” Shepard ignores the whoop from Vita, the cursing from Ame, and the almost silent sigh that Fox gives. Most of his crew rarely enjoys a Krogan at the helm.

Too bad, Shepard doesn’t understand the dislike, it reminds him a little of his own flying. He’s not a bad flyer at all.

**Author's Note:**

> This Chapter is 7k words and I'm not even close to introducing Kaidan and Steve, sigh...


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